


New Mobile History - Gundam Wing: The Sword

by seraphiczero



Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam Wing
Genre: Canon - Anime, Dogs, Gen, Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz, Mecha, News Media, Outer Space, Peace, Post-Anime, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-War, Propaganda, Protests, Psychological Torture, Soldiers, Space Stations, Suffering, Veterans, Video & Computer Games, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphiczero/pseuds/seraphiczero
Summary: After the formation of the ESUN, Heero Yuy still finds that he cannot let go of his old ways, and he struggles to become an ordinary man. However, trouble is brewing in the background, and he may not be able to give up The Sword after all. (Direct continuation of Endless Waltz; non-canon with GotL and Frozen Teardrop. Official artwork ondeviantArt!)





	New Mobile History - Gundam Wing: The Sword

**New Mobile History**  
**Gundam Wing: The Sword**

**Act I: Fragile Peace  
Episode I: The Long Road**

_After Colony 197_

Peace has returned to the people, and from this point on in history, weapons called mobile suits—including the Gundams—were never to be seen again in the Earth Sphere.

However, not all of mankind was able to share in this same peace, and so, tranquility will once again be slain by The Sword.

 

_After Colony 200_

Clarity in the emptiness. Focus in the face of death. It was war.

On the edge of lunar space, pilots guided their mobile suits into formation, checking communication, targeting systems, ammo, fuel... A silent intensity choked the air as the soldiers worked hurriedly. The reverence was for the lives about to be extinguished.

They saw a cosmic band sparkling lights that appeared from the deep reaches of space. The band started from Mars and touched the ends of the Earth Sphere. Each glimmering light was a ruinous star--ships, carriers, and mobile suits--enemies coming to snuff out life as they knew it.

A small portion of the band, composed easily of a thousand units, had branched off to face the ESUN defensive line--a living wall made of metal and human valor placed adamantly between the Earth and its invaders.

The soldiers of the Earth Sphere United Nations were anxious. Some meditated on nothingness, trying not to lose themselves to the frenzy of battle. Some focused back on their training, praying that in some way it would keep them alive. And others thought back to their families who waited for them. Soon would come a single instant that would transform all of them and begin a new chapter in the war-torn history of the human race.

And yet to join the formation was a mobile suit with great white wings, an incarnation of terror and hope, an embodiment of carnage and surreal beauty. It drifted unguided through the silence of space like a feather in the current of a cool brook. The pilot inside, obscured in the darkness of his control chamber, was reading again a message addressed to him.

_…You are so far away now, and I am unable to learn where you are or how you're doing. I don't even know if you are standing on this same earth. Even so, I want you to know that I stand behind you, and I trust you to do the right thing. I wish I could keep you away from the battlefield, or even fight in your stead, but I will have faith in your strength._

_When thoughts of you weigh heavy on me, I find myself in the garden. Even though I know you could be worlds away on the verge of life and death, I feel that I can be closer to you here. No matter the distance between us, what's certain is that the memories in this earth and the life that grows from it connects us. Please be safe through your trials and return home._

_With my deepest wishes...._

 

Hesitantly, the message window was closed as the panoramic monitors of the cockpit began to flicker to life, and he was surrounded with the image of a battle about to commence. His hand had moved involuntarily, cutting off the words before his eye could pass over the name of the one who had written him with such warmth and devotion.

The Gundam righted itself as it took its place within the formation. It commanded an austere elegance, laying its piercing gaze on a crested mobile suit in the distance ahead. Heero began to speak with a link to the other soldier's suit.

He motioned to the hundreds of men and women at his back. "Do you see these people? They came to defend what rightfully belongs to them."

The pilot in the crested suit replied gravely. "Peace for the few is no peace at all. Humanity's cradle is corrupt and diseased. It will be cleansed, and the Sons of Mars will inherit mankind's future."

At length Heero let out a soft sigh. The time for words was long past.

The feathered suit's jets whined as a soft glow grew at the tips of its otherworldly silhouette. Hurled forth by metal wings, it charged forward into the sea of mobile suits ahead, white feathers trailing behind it.

 

_April of After Colony 197_

Heero's mech leveled its behemoth hi-laser rifle and fired a glowing blue bolt at his opponent. The other machine dropped down from the ceiling of the enormous steel arena, avoiding the shot, and returned fire with its sniper rifle.

At last.... A strong opponent. Someone who smelled of blood like he did. An enemy to give him purpose....

The screen flickered. In the dark room, the blue glow of the television was mirrored in Heero's dull eyes. He was drunk, a game controller pressed into his hands.

"Who the hell do you think you are, Mr. Ace?" Heero criticized his computer-controlled opponent belligerently, his words slurred together. "Slingin' around that sniper rifle like you're king of the world...!"

The two machines strafed around each other, trading shots. Dodging each other's gun blasts, they avoided destruction by the smallest of margins. The rush of thrusters and the thunderous crash of heavy footsteps permeated the air as their elaborate dance played out.

The alcohol made him sloppy with his hands, but Heero's combative timing and intuition would never leave him. Commanding his mech required the use of almost every button on the controller at once, and Heero rarely ever took any damage, even while drinking.

Sensing a lull in the duel, Heero took another swig of Wild Turkey. Using only his left hand, he weaved his mech through a stream of rocket explosions with only a walking pace.

Heero choked when the splash damage from one of the rockets nicked his machine, reducing his armor points by a small tick.

"What!?" He coughed, slamming the heavy glass bottle down in a rage. He huffed, his breath hot and volatile, "You dare to damage _me_? That asshole before you made the same mistake. You know what happened--" Heero's sentence is interrupted by a hiccup, "--to _him_? I killed him! That's right...sent that fucker to Hell!"

An odd silence passed. With more focus, Heero began an earnest offensive. He hammered his opponent with bolt after bolt from his hi-laser rifle.

Having reduced his opponent down the last of his armor points, Heero ejected his mech's rifle and extension parts, readying himself for the _coup de grâce_ he used in all his matches.

With a trigger/button combination press, Heero activated his mech's overboost thrusters, a crazed grin stretching his lips. The entire back of his mech opened, and from it a white-hot flame burst out in a flurry, hurtling him towards his opponent.

Unguided by any weapons locks, Heero weaved through his opponent's rocket barrage as he closed distance. He zipped right and left, driving ever closer as his opponent backpedaled skyward.

Heero's energy reserves drained to the red zone, but he was finally within reach of his victim. He unleashed his laser blade and whipped it across his opponent's chest, the blow stunning the mech and the energy wave that followed tearing it apart.

The destroyed mech fell from the sky and crumbled into a burning heap. The flames reflected in Heero's eyes as he looked down on his defeated foe. Heero's shoulders shook with a low chuckle that continued until he threw his head back into a mad cackle.

The taste of victory was intoxicating. The long campaign was over. The enemy had been crushed, and he was victorious--untouchable. Heero reveled in the replay of the finishing blow in an endless loop, shaking with mad laughter and drowning himself in drink until he passed out and collapsed onto the clinking bottles strewn all around him.

Heero woke the next morning to an empty apartment and a headache. He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Four months had passed since the Mariemaia rebellion.

His stomach turned like an ocean tide, but he forced down the illness, not wanting to get up from the floor.

It was early, but he could already hear heavy footsteps and sharp voices from the upstairs neighbors. Heero had done background checks on everyone in the apartment building, but simply hearing them through the thin walls revealed more than paper trails ever could.

The upstairs neighbors Julius and his wife Sharon were constantly arguing. Julius had three jobs and five young children. Heero silently wondered if the man was capable of pulling out of a driveway.

His wife was constantly berating him both for not making enough money and for not being home often enough. Sharon had a nasty habit of throwing things and punctuating her words with pummeling blows. Julius and the children were all terrified of her.

Heero's neighbor to the left was a girl named Ashley. She was a quiet girl, and she was in the process of helping her ex-fiancé move out. Some nights she wept alone in her room, her painful wails piercing the thin walls.

To the other side was Heero's neighbor Tony. A year ago he was let go from his job. He was unable to find steady work, and his high school sweetheart left him soon after to indulge in the sex and luxurious gifts other men offered her. Tony spent his waking hours in a haze, high on herb and other drugs.

Heero did not know how Tony could afford such expensive habits, but pain always found a way. Sometimes Tony would go silent for days, and Heero would wonder if he had finally killed himself or if he had overdosed on something more potent, but then the putrid smoke would come seeping through the walls again, and he knew nothing had changed.

"This is peace?" Heero wondered out loud to himself, staring up at the bare ceiling.

Heero sat up, sore from laying on the floor and nauseous from last night's drink. He looked over at the game console which had been left on overnight. He kicked himself, knowing the heat was bad for the machine.

His intent was to use it to keep his skills sharp, but he found most everything too easy. He would need to build his own rig and software if he wanted to gain anything from it. Still, the games were amusing, and it was fun to pretend to stomp around the city in a giant robot when you're not supposed to anymore.

Reaching for the controller, Heero hesitated for a moment. He had already beaten everything eight times over. Those were not victories but mere simulations of victory. Instead, he turned off the machine and tucked the controller aside.

Only months ago, he wouldn't need a hobby to consume his time. Heero's mornings used to be consumed by combat strategy, mobile suit maintenance, and espionage. But now, he had no direction, no one in need of protection, and no reason to be on his feet.

Heero sighed and looked at all the empty bottles around him. When he was younger, he never imagined he would take to drinking. Dr. J forbade it, saying such habits were deleterious for a soldier. But Dr. J wasn't around anymore, and Heero was done playing soldier.

The taste was bitter, but the drink would make him feel at ease. There was no pressure. Heero eyed one of the bottles he had not quite emptied. It was probably warm and horrible now, but the taste wasn't the point. He leisurely picked up the bottle and pressed it to his lips, but a thought quietly crossed his mind, and he slowly set the bottle down, almost in a grave manner.

Had he become like Tony? The feeling was not sharp or even immediately apparent, but a numbing sense of shame overcame him, and all at once he also felt very sorry for the man who lived next door.

A moment later, he was on his feet collecting the bottles into a waste bin. In his mind, he vowed for change--to be more than just a person caught in a cycle of highs and lows.

In spite of his nausea, Heero transitioned into his daily workout routine. Because he was constantly on the move in his combat days and often without access to equipment, he was taught to do physical training through calisthenics.

Hydrate. Four-hundred fifty pull-ups. Four-hundred inverted sit-ups. Two-hundred handstand pushups. An hour of balance exercises and leg exercises. Rehydrate. Then repeat everything for a second round. Next week he would do a completely different routine to make sure he was well-rounded.

By noon Heero was ragged, but feeling light and glad he had done a good job of tuning up the complex machinery of his body. There was just something purifying about the pain of physical training.

He got out of the shower and checked the fridge a bite to eat, but there was no food--only a familiar spot of mold on the second rack that kind of looked like an Aries in flight mode if you squinted.

Heero shut the heavy refrigerator door and exhaled a long breath. He would have to venture outside for supplies.

He threw on his jeans and a denim jacket. Heero kept his head down to keep a low profile as he walked to the market. People on the street seemed to avoid him regardless. Perhaps it was his hard expression that scared them. He had tried for weeks to soften his demeanor, but it just was not in him to smile or be friendly and open with others.

Would he even have enough to get something? He was down to his last few dollars. The old landlord is going to be upset again.

During the wars Heero would simply drop funds into a hacked account--millions upon millions at a time if necessary. Nothing stopped him from doing that now, but without the context of a war or the urgency of mobile suit maintenance, he could no longer justify such practices to himself.

He was no longer a soldier. He had to earn a living like any other man. That's what he told himself, anyway.

He should at least have enough for a few cartons of eggs. That will have to do for now.

A familiar rush of crisp, clean air washed over Heero as he entered the market. The people inside were all strangers--disconnected, keeping to themselves. He hurried through the aisles himself.

It was a miracle, Heero thought. The same revelation shook him every time he visited the market. Aisles and aisles stocked full with food and goods. Frozen, dry, cheap, fresh, specialized--however you want it, all within arm's reach.

He once thirsted for days in a desert. One night, he nearly went mad from dehydration and blew his cover by ambushing an Alliance scout team. He knocked out all the soldiers and stole all their water. While no blood was shed, Heero knew the scouts likely died of thirst over the next few days, unable to reach home or call for help.

It was almost as bad as that time in Siberia. He was cold and starving for weeks in that desolate, frozen forest, tracking down a secret shipment of Gundanium. He could make no sound or light any fires for warmth. When his rations ran out, he survived on melted snow and tree bark.

He was attacked by a wolf one night. He and that beast were both starved, desperate animals. Heero didn't know which was more savage--the wolf's snapping fangs or the knife he jammed into the animal in a dozen different places. Unable to light a fire undercover, he ended up eating its flesh raw to quiet his hunger.

Heero blinked, noticing that he was getting strange stares from others passing by him. They knew nothing of this hardship but judged him anyway. He turned away and hurried along, returning to the register with two cartons of eggs and a bottle of water.

"Kasey," Heero read from her name tag. She was a young blonde with big, round eyes. She smiled as she did with all the customers, but Heero she looked up and down with a bit of hunger in her eyes.

Heero diverted his gaze quietly as Kasey scanned the few items through.

"That'll be 12 Credits, gorgeous," Kasey announced.

Heero opened his wallet. He had a sinking feeling, seeing he did not have enough. Had he forgotten he had spent most of his money somewhere else?

"What's the matter?"

Heero cleared his throat to speak, but his voice was dry and raspy. He realized he had not really spoken to anyone for weeks. Again he cleared his throat, though more forcefully than before. Kasey looked mildly offended.

"Just one carton. I don't need both." Heero quietly placed a bill on the counter. Several people in the line behind him began to look impatient over the wait.

Kasey's expression changed to some mixture of contempt and disgust. It didn't matter how handsome he was; men with no money were all bums. She placed one of the egg cartons behind the counter and bagged the other two items.

Heero took his bag and change awkwardly and left without a word. He walked home at a brisk pace, a grim look on his face. He half contemplated some income strategy and half how to avoid ever visiting the same market ever again. Maybe he could sell a few of his guns, or now it was time to take Sally up on her offer to work with the Preventers....

As Heero arrived at the old apartment building, he came across one of Julius' sons, the middle of the bunch. The young boy was teaching the new family dog to walk on a leash, but the pup was rambunctious, tugging on the lead and running to and fro. The boy ran to keep up with the dog, but he tripped and fell to the pavement on his hands and knees.

Heero winced inside, knowing the boy would be all scraped up. Even the pup stopped its horseplay, turning its head with concern.

"Are you okay?" Heero approached calmly.

The boy took his hands off his knees to show Heero how badly he was hurt. Blood dripped down from the gashes, running all the way down his legs, staining his socks. Heero knew the boy would need to be treated quickly to avoid scarring or infection.

"Where are your parents?"

Julius' son answered, "Dad's working. Mom is taking care of my sisters upstairs. She's going to be mad...."

Heero helped the child onto his feet. "I have bandages upstairs. Can you walk?"

A moment later, Heero set his groceries down on the counter and looped the dog's leash around a stool. He left the apartment door open and dug out his first-aid kit. He'd had a lot of practice treating his own wounds in the past.

Heero started wiping down the blood and cleaning the scrapes on the boy's knees and palms with isopropyl alcohol. It must have stung, but the boy did not cry out. He was tough, Heero thought.

He saw other marks and bruises on the boy's arms. He knew these were not from the fall.

"What's your name?" Heero asked, not looking up, starting to pick bits of dirt and gravel out of the wounds with a set of tweezers.

"Sam."

"Does your dog have a name?" Heero asked, trying to distract the patient from the procedure with conversation.

"Troy. Dad got him from the pound yesterday."

Troy was quite the mutt, Heero thought. But he liked mutts. They were healthy, strong, and adaptable. He always felt like he was quite a mongrel, himself. Keeping a dog, however, was only going to exacerbate his neighbors' financial difficulties and escalate their arguments, Heero feared.

In the background, the pup had gotten a hold of one of Heero's old shoes. Heero ignored it to focus on bandaging up Sam's knees and palms.

"Better?"

Sam stood up, moving his hands and knees gingerly. He nodded. "Thanks, mister. I wish Troy wasn't so bad. He made me fall running after him."

"Troy's not a bad dog," Heero explained knowingly. "Dogs are eager to please. Sometimes they can get too excited."

Heero freed the pup from the stool and took the leash in hand. The dog dropped the old shoe and began tugging defiantly at the leash. Heero remained calm, holding the leash with purpose. After some struggle, the dog stopped wrestling and sat down quietly.

Sam was astonished. Troy was quiet. Nobody had to yell at him or hit him or anything.

Heero pressed the leash into Sam's hand. "If you're calm, they're calm," he explained. "You have to be stern with dogs. They like discipline. Make sure he's relaxed before he can go outside with you."

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"Sam!" Sam's mother Sharon appeared in the doorway. "I've been looking all over for you!!"

"Mom!" Sam ran over to her. "I fell down, but our neighbor helped me. He taught me about dogs, too. Look at how good Troy is!"

The woman looked her boy over and scolded him, "You're a mess! Your socks are all bloody. Do you know how hard it will be to get these stains out?"

Sam looked down at the floor sadly. Heero stepped in and explained, "He scraped his hands and knees. I cleaned up the wounds, but it'll need to be redressed once in a while."

Sharon grabbed her son by the arm and started walking away. She stared daggers at the other man. "Stay away from my kids, you pervert."

Heero was taken aback, not expecting such a reaction. How could anyone say, let alone think, this?

The retired veteran could only stand back and watch the other woman walk off. He saw Sam give him a sad look over his shoulder as he and the dog were dragged away.

Heero shut the door quietly after a while, feeling defeated and feeling sorry for Julius' son.

The young veteran sat his tired bones down at the table, alone, hunched over a plate of eggs. He was never going to blend in with the rest of society. He was too broken and misunderstood, and society was too foreign and senseless. He just wanted to sit down, eat his scrambled eggs, and not think about anything.

He jabbed one of the yellow clumps with his fork and chewed the soft mass mechanically. There was no flavor. He ate to have the strength to eat again the next day. Silence and an empty room were his only company.

Heero cleared his plate and sunk down into his recliner. Peace was terrifying, he was beginning to realize. War was Hell--bloodshed and senseless destruction. But peace was its own Hell--a Hell of isolated, directionless wandering.

War in the least could unite people together, but in peace everyone from a beggar to a king was only interested in climbing over everyone else to make his own. They were free to solve human sufferings like hunger and longing, but those problems were ignored when there was wealth and influence to grab.

Why then did he sacrifice so much to win peace? Heero did it to protect people and free them from tyrants. But now that he had met those people he sacrificed to save, he was no longer sure it was worth all the blood he had spilled.

Fatigued and disgruntled with his own thoughts, Heero leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. What would he even do now? It was too early to sleep. Nothing else in the apartment needed his attention.

Thoughtlessly, he reached for the television remote and switched the screen on. He flipped through a dozen channels disinterestedly. Sports...children's programs...daytime dramas...a documentary on African wildlife...a man falling down a waterfall while he was on fire....

Heero landed on an inter-colonial news broadcast. At least it could be somewhat relevant.

Heero learned very early in his training that public news broadcasts were not to be trusted. The Alliance, Romefellar, and most governments would very carefully filter and twist what was told to the public. A word here...a detail there...and the meaning was completely different. But with a careful eye, one could glean important details or even tell what they were trying to hide.

The network seemed to be on a 24-hour loop covering some major business scandal. Heero leaned forward, a familiar gleam of intense focus in his eyes.

_"...Riots at the Winner estate continue into their second week. Sole heir Quatre R. Winner has gone silent, not having appeared in public for days. The Winner family has been accused of using public funds and resources to bankroll ESUN terraformation projects, causing massive instability for the local Lagrange 4 economy. Local authorities have been strained to their limit, doing their best to keep the riots from turning to full-blown violence...."_

It was a grave situation, Heero saw. Maybe there is something left to do.

***

Quatre scrolled through the headlines on his phone. They were all so terrible, he thought.

_"Winner Monopoly to gain from public poverty."_

_"6 officers injured in riots. Winner family unresponsive."_

_"Corruption endemic to Winner family bloodline."_

A hand reached across the car seat and pushed the phone down into Quatre's lap.

"Put that away, Quatre. All it does is keep you up at night." It was Shasta, Quatre's assistant. She was Rashid's niece and started working as his personal assistant last year. The tablet in her lap organized Quatre's complex meeting schedule. She had flawless bronze skin and wore her dark hair long and straight. They were in the back seat of a company vehicle, the driver taking them to their next appointment.

"How can they say all this? We've done nothing but try to help...." Quatre was exhausted. Shasta could see the sleeplessness in his eyes and the fatigue in his voice.

She leaned in and kissed him. They both closed their eyes, smiling. "You're so kind, Quatre. You're the CEO now, so you have enemies in many places. They'll say anything to damage your image, but don't ever let them take your kindness from you."

Quatre's inheritance as CEO of the Winner Corporation and head of the estate had been highly controversial. He was the youngest CEO in Lagrange 4, inexperienced, unmarried, and the son of the previous CEO who was killed in shame.

And now he was hiding a relationship with his assistant from the company. While he was unmarried, such unprofessional conduct would prove quite scandalous to the media.

Shasta was a year older than him and started as his assistant through a recommendation from Rashid. Their affection was quite genuine, however. For ages they attempted to avoid each other for the sake of professionalism, but eventually they could no longer deny their mutual longing.

Hiding their affair was difficult. Since the riots began at the estate, Quatre had begun staying at Shasta's apartment for safety, while she took it as an opportunity for them to finally be alone together, and she had been riding him ragged ever since. It was not the kind of romance Quatre imagined he would have when he was younger, but life, it seemed, wanted him to grow up in many different ways at once. There was no place for childish ideals anymore.

Quatre squeezed Shasta's hand, the two quietly drawing strength from each other through difficult times.

The driver was a man in his late fifties who had been loyal to the company for decades. He quietly approved of the young couple, keeping his knowledge of their union under wraps. He spoke over his shoulder, "Master Quatre, we should arrive at the GT Dynatek office shortly." But as he said this, the car pulled to a stop.

All the occupants of the car looked ahead to see that the protestors and rioters had marched all the way out to Main Street. The people in the crowd were angry, yelling and chanting in unison, waving signs, and shaking their fists. The driver searched worriedly for an opportunity to pass, but the crowd was too dense. He instead looked to back the car up to find a way around, but the vehicle was suddenly surrounded.

The mood in the car grew tense. A knock came at the driver-side window. Everyone was too scared to move. Another knock on the window, louder, angrier.

Finally, the driver lowered his tinted window by a crack. He peered out cautiously at the man standing outside. "Can I help you?"

"You can't pass through here. We are demonstrating."

"We have a vitally important appointment to make. If you could let us through, we would be grateful."

"No one goes through. We're tired of stepping aside for snobs and thieves."

"We don't want any trouble," the driver answered. "At least let us turn around and go the other way."

"No one goes through," the other man repeated. The people behind him began to murmur.

"Sir, do not be unreasonable!" The driver began to argue. The two went back and forth, the exchange growing more heated. Eventually the driver exited the car and tried to wave the crowd away to clear a path. The mob grabbed the older gentleman and started pushing him and shouting at him.

Quatre jumped up, but Shasta pulled him down again. "Are you crazy? Don't go out there. They'll tear you to pieces!"

Quatre returned a soulful, serious glance. "This has to stop."

Shasta released her grip on his sleeve. She wouldn't be able to hold him back.

The young blonde stepped out from the car and revealed himself. "Everyone, please stop this. This can't go on any further."

The mob went silent. They could not believe their eyes.

"Master Quatre! Please get back into the car. It's not safe out here," the driver pleaded.

Murmurs could be heard in the crowd. "It's really him!" "He's behind all this." "He's got the gall to show his face...."

"I know you are angry," Quatre implored. "Mistakes were made, but we can resolve this peacefully." He called for diplomacy, but he could feel the air begin to boil. 

"Lies! How much more will you take!"

"You won't get away with this!"

"How am I supposed to feed my family?!"

"We're gonna take it all back from you fat bastards!"

"Winners are thieves!!"

Quatre was overwhelmed by the misunderstanding and hatred coming from every direction. He couldn't possibly respond to all of it. Was this the last thing his father saw before he died?

The crowd edged forward on Quatre, shouting, waving banners and signs. A woman got right into his face, screaming vitriol and pushing him repeatedly. Quatre's mind was in a blur. His ears rang, face burning hot. He could not defend himself from her, fearing she could be harmed in any way.

Shasta leapt from the car and shoved the woman back, possessed by no similar mercy. The woman stumbled backward into the crowd until she was caught by a pair of other men. They instead advanced.

Quatre stepped in front of Shasta, pushing her back down into the open car. He did so wordlessly, automatically, out of instinct. The man bearing down on Quatre raised a fist into the air, ready to hammer it down onto him.

Everything moved in slow motion.

A din of shouting. Feelings of anger. Feelings of sorrow.

He could fight back, Quatre thought. But if he were to raise his hand against his own people, this would all become meaningless. So instead, he closed his eyes, ready to bear the blame and hatred they thrust upon him.

All he heard the next moment was a fist striking bone, the hollow crumpling of a car door, and a body collapsing to the ground. Then silence.

Quatre waited for the crushing blow, the white-hot pain, but it never came. He opened his eyes, seeing his attacker on the ground and Heero Yuy standing over the body.

Quatre stammered, "Heero?!"

Heero had caught the man's wrist and slammed him into the car with a palm strike to the side of his jaw. The blow to his face and his head colliding with the vehicle knocked the attacker out cold, and he crumpled to the ground.  
The mob doubled back in fear from Heero's sudden appearance. They did not know who he was, but they could tell from his posture and his movements that he was professionally trained and out of their league. Still, a few in the crowd advanced again. They had finally found Quatre Winner, the one responsible, and they would not rest until they had justice.

Heero, seeing their violent intent, stepped back and reached for the pistol tucked behind his back.

"Heero!" Quatre cried out, stopping his friend from escalating to lethal force. "Don't hurt them," he implored.

So Heero released his grip on the pistol, but they were already rushing in.

The first man ran in at full speed, hands ready to grab Heero and take him to the ground. Heero intercepted his arm and redirected his momentum, tossing the grown man a clear ten feet in another direction.

Another man wielded a picket sign with both hands, swinging it down on Heero like a wooden axe. Heero's foot shot upward in a high kick that snapped the wood shaft in two, disabling the weapon mid-swing. Disarmed and bewildered by Heero's show of skill, this man retreated back into the crowd.

A third approached with his fists up and his chin down, ready to slug it out. He threw a quick jab-hook combination that Heero evaded with expert precision. Heero blocked another hook and responded with an explosively powerful open-palm strike. The man could not block in time and got his nose and mouth smashed in, the blow knocking him senseless. Heero stepped in and took hold of his opponent's arm, throwing him to the ground for good measure.

By this time Quatre had recovered the driver from the mob. He was too roughed up and frazzled to control the vehicle, so he was secured in the rear seat with Shasta.

They all looked up in terror as a man jumped onto the roof of the car, attempting to stop them from escaping. It was a mistake, however, as he had no means of actually doing anything to any of the occupants from his position.

He kicked at Heero impotently but was unable to reach. Heero grabbed the man's pant leg and yanked his feet out from under him. The hooligan crashed into the roof of the car, denting it, and got the wind knocked out of him. He rolled painfully onto the hood of the car and down to the ground.

The crowd could see their best writhing on the ground at Heero's feet. It was sobering for the normally peaceful citizens to see what damage a trained soldier could do--even when he was holding back. They could overtake him if they all mobbed him at once, but they hesitated to escalate the violence any higher.

Sensing a lull in the scuffle, Heero took it as a chance to retreat. He shoved Quatre into the car and jumped into the driver's seat. Without even closing his own door, he threw the gear into reverse and had the car flying backward through the street, tires squealing and rioters jumping out of the way.

***

Quatre heaved a sigh of relief. They had ducked into an abandoned office that the Winners owned. No one would look for them there.

"That was exciting...." the driver commented sarcastically as Shasta helped him to a seat. He groaned painfully from his injuries and his sore back.

"It was stupid is what it was," Shasta chided seriously.

"I'm sorry, everyone," Quatre lamented. "I've put you all in so much danger."

Heero shut the blinds on all the windows, peeking out to see if they were followed. He eventually rejoined the others.

"I don't like to make assumptions," Heero started, "but those people weren't trying to kill you for good reasons, right?"

Quatre looked guilty. "It's...complicated."

"I'm sorry," Shasta interjected, "thanks for saving us and all that, but who are you exactly?" She couldn't have Quatre spilling his guts and exposing company secrets to an outsider.

"It's okay, Shasta," Quatre assuaged her. "He can be trusted. Heero was a pilot back in the day like I was. He stopped the White Fang from dropping Libra on Earth. And he destroyed the Mariemaia Army's fortification at Brussels. You could say we all owe this man our lives."

Shasta's jaw hit the floor. Heero averted his eyes quietly, not wanting the undue attention.

She stammered, "I--I had no idea! I didn't mean to be rude...!" She bowed her head apologetically. "Please forgive me."

"It's fine," Heero dismissed. Wasting no time, he turned to Quatre again. "As for my question...."

"Right," Quatre confirmed. He had everyone sit. "Like I said, it's complicated, and the current situation has been building up for months. After Brussels I came back to the colonies to take over my father's position in the company. Results have been mixed. Some have supported me, but other parties were not happy."

Shasta chimed in, "Quatre's been using his position to help the colonies rebuild. He's been wildly generous, and L4 has been seeing major economic recovery compared to other regions. At the same time, Quatre has been highly supportive of the Earth Sphere United Nations. Not everyone has been in favor of this, however, saying the resources should be focused inward--that we cannot afford to help ESUN build so aggressively. 'Our resources should be used to help our own citizens first.'"

"ESUN is very new," Quatre started, "but it needs both economic and technological support. Their leading project is the Mars terraformation project. ESUN has a high need for superconducting materials for developing interplanetary drive systems. For a long time, L4 has been mining these materials for ESUN, but I figured, why not give the mining rights over to ESUN?"

"It would significantly reduce cost for ESUN since they could cut out the middle man and mine using their own man power," Shasta explained. "The Winner Corporation was supposed to use the money from the mining rights to purchase another satellite, a newly captured satellite from Mars. However, the seller suddenly backed out of the deal at the last moment."

"That left the Winner Corporation with billions in its pocket from the sale, but no work available for its own miners. It was a horrible mistake," Quatre exclaimed. "The economy has been reeling from it for months.... We've been looking desperately for another seller, but there has been no luck."

Heero folded his arms. "Wouldn't you have the resources to capture another unclaimed satellite?"

"We're considering it as an real alternative, but such a project can take years to plan and execute. We simply don't have the time," Shasta admitted.

Quatre held his head in his hands, beginning to buckle from the stress of the dilemma. "I've been petitioning the board of directors to give the miners paid leave or to create new jobs or just...something! But it's like talking to a wall. They won't budge an inch. And we can't use the funds from the mining rights in case we can use it to secure another satellite."

"Unemployment's high," Shasta lamented. "ESUN can't take on all the workers looking for jobs. It's too difficult to relocate colonists for work, especially when they can't uproot their families."

Heero contemplated silently. He could understand the colonists' anger--or desperation, as it were. Poverty and hardship were common on Earth as well. He saw it firsthand in his neighbors and in himself. If they had someone like Quatre to blame, would they, too, be marching in the streets demanding his head?

"So," Heero said, getting to the point, "what do we do?"

Shasta answered with a sigh, "First of all, we need more time. We were going to meet with GT Dynatek today about some possible sellers, but we'll have to reschedule." She looked Heero in the eye seriously. "Secondly, there can't be any more repeats of today. Can you stay on and help us keep incognito? Quatre's work requires constant travel and meetings, so this can be challenging."

"I can keep you safe," Heero assured them, "but there will be rules...."

Quatre was elated. "We're truly grateful for your help, Heero! We'll forever be in your debt."

Heero shrugged off the sentiment. "About those rules...."

For the next few weeks Heero kept Quatre and Shasta undercover as they went about their business dealings. They slept very little, and they never stayed in the same place for more than a few days at a time. Everyone was miserable being away from friends and family and niceties, but they endured, knowing it was for the greater good.

Under Heero's watch, they made all their appointments in a timely, low-key manner. They either traveled on unexpected routes, in disguise, or Heero had their associates meet in a neutral, undisclosed site. The media was beginning to whisper that Quatre Winner had vanished altogether.

While Quatre made good progress on his end, the board of directors in his company were resistant at every turn. They disagreed, undermined, and deflected with irrelevant complaints. The lack of cooperation made Heero suspicious, especially since a victory for Quatre would mean Winner Corp would no longer be under fire from the media and the public.

Heero decided to launch his own investigation independently from Quatre. He would first have to wait for the cover of darkness.

***

Evan Qureshi gasped as the burlap sack over his head was torn away. A bright spotlight stabbed his eyes, and his head ached terribly from whatever had knocked him out. His suit and tie were wrinkled up in the ordeal. Evan reeked of alcohol and perfume from a night of boozing and womanizing.

He could not move his hands or legs. He was tied down to a chair with heavy wire. Evan searched around the room frantically for any sign of help or escape, but it was too dark.

A figure stepped between Evan and the spotlight. "Who's there!" Evan cried, not able to make out the silhouette. No answer. The man stepped closer. Evan did not recognize who it was. He was an Asian man wearing a surgical mask over his face. The cold gaze of the man's Prussian blue eyes frightened Evan into silence.

Then Evan noticed the scalpel.

He panicked, struggling against the wire tying him down. "Help! Someone HELP!! Stay away from me...!"

The interrogator leaned in slowly, pressing the flat of the scalpel against his subject's lips. "Quiet, Evan. I don't like loud noises." Evan whimpered quietly, trying not to cry. He pulled the scalpel away.

"What do you want?" Evan whined, quivering.

"I just want to talk and get to know you," Heero feigned. Evan Qureshi was the youngest member of Winner Corp's board. His age meant he was the hungriest and the weakest of them. He would be the easiest to break.

"I hear you have a nice job, Evan. It's a pity Winner Corp has such a bad rap in the news.... It's strange how a huge corporation could have such a hard time finding a rock to buy off someone."

"I'm not the one you should be talking to!" Evan retorted. "If anyone, you should have grabbed that fuck-up Winner kid!!"

"He can be too nice for his own good," the interrogator agreed dryly. "All he wants is for the colonists to be happy. Is that so bad?"

Evan spat, "They're just dirty animals--not worth the scum stuck to the bottom of your shoes."

The interrogator said nothing for a moment. "You're right, Evan. They are animals. And just like an animal, if they can't feed their families, they'd find anyone at fault and tear them to pieces. I don't think Quatre Winner's the right guy. I don't know who it really is but...I think you know who."

"Why should I tell you anything?!" Evan shouted defensively. He regretted his tone immediately as the other man just returned a cold, unfathomable stare that sent chills down his spine.

"If you don't want to talk, we can just play instead, Evan." The interrogator eyed him strangely, looking him over, examining every bit of him. Evan was very uncomfortable, unsure of what to make of his captor.

"You know, I've always wanted to be a surgeon. The human body is such a fascinating thing," Heero said gesturing aloofly at Evan's features, "but it's so terribly inefficient...."

Evan's blood ran cold. He didn't know what to think.

Heero tilted his head, his eyes inhuman and unblinking. His full expression was hidden behind the surgical mask. "How would you like it if we tucked your stomach behind your ear so you can poop through your forehead?" He motioned gently behind Evan's left ear in an eerie fashion, showing where he would make the incision. "Wouldn't that be much more efficient?"

Evan was dead silent for a moment. But then his eyes grew wide, and he started shrieking at the top of this lungs. "Help me!! Someone fucking help me! This psychopath has me tied up!! He's gonna cut me to pieces!!" Evan rattled in his chair violently, pulling against his restraints.

Heero was, in fact, just saying the most ridiculous thing he could come up with, but his deadpan delivery was convincing enough for Evan. He waited for his captive to calm down.

Evan was now sobbing openly. "Please don't hurt me. Oh god, please don't.... Please, I'll do anything...."

Heero waited another full minute to let the desperation ripen.

"Tell me what's happening at Winner Corp."

Evan gasped for breath between sobs. "It's the whole board.... We're all in on it.... We convinced the seller to back out at the last minute. If things got bad enough, we thought we could get Quatre to resign. Then we would have full control of Winner Corp...." He continued to whimper for a while.

Heero leaned in close and spoke directly. "Tomorrow you're going to call a press conference and tell them everything. No more nonsense."

Through his tears and snot, Evan retorted, "But if I did that--AAGH!!" He yelped as his captor stuck a syringe into his thigh and injected the clear fluid into him.

"Fuck!! What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.... What did you do...?"

"Call the press conference tomorrow or you won't get the antidote. And don't worry. Your doctor won't be able to figure out what it is."

Evan cried out again. "Oh god! Oh god, no. No no no no no nononono no. Please, god, why...."

The syringe was filled with ice water. But the cold sensation it caused for Evan was enough to convince him it was really poison.

Evan sobbed weakly, tears and snot dripping down his face. He was spent from all the emotional turmoil.

"Will you do it?" Heero pressed.

"If I do, I'll lose everything...."

"You'll still have your life," Heero reminded him.

At length, Evan took a deep breath. "...Fine. I'll do it." He coughed, his throat rough from all his screaming and crying. "Just don't hurt me."

Heero threw the burlap sack back over the other man's head. That was easy, he thought with disappointment. He didn't even have to use the centipedes. They would now have to be returned to the pet shop.

At least Heero didn't have to look at Evan and the sorry mess that he was anymore.

***

The next day Evan Qureshi, still visibly shaken, shocked the public by revealing the betrayal of the Winner Corp board of directors. He announced his immediate resignation and disappeared from the public eye. He fell to his knees when he received a message from an unknown number: "It was water."

Redeemed, Quatre gutted the entire board and launched an internal investigation. It would take months, possibly years, to rebuild the board with loyal members. At first the public responded with anger at the corruption of the dissolved board, but without any single face to blame, the media soon dispersed to focus on other distractions.

With his name cleared, Quatre worked tirelessly to resolve the botched satellite deals. He and Shasta were able to purchase a small resource satellite from the L3 group. In addition, through their contact in GT Dynatek, a larger resource satellite was divided in a delicate demolition operation with Winner Corp purchasing the largest section. When the two satellites were relocated to L4, the former Winner Corp miners would be hired back with a near forty percent increase to their wages.

Through these dealings, Quatre spent nearly twice as much as he received from the mining rights he sold to ESUN, but the investment was worth making things right again with the citizens of the colony.

It was a month after the press conference when Quatre and Heero agreed it was time they parted ways once more.

"Looks like I made it out alive," Quatre smiled. "It's all thanks to you."

Heero deflected the gratitude. "It will take time to build trust with the colony citizens again. Be careful, Quatre."

"I never thought I would ever get to see the world the way it is now. What do you think?" Quatre asked.

Unsure, Heero clarified, "Think of what?"

"Of peace."

Heero searched for his words. "It's not as quiet as I thought it would be," he admitted.

"You're right," Quatre agreed kindly. "There's no more fighting, but there's still a lot left to do. And a lot of people who need help."

Heero knew what Quatre said was true. Building a better world was an enormous task. He could not help but be reminded of his past failings, however. His skills as a soldier served him poorly in a world without bloodshed.

Heero diverted his eyes quietly. "I don't think I'm cut out for this. Put a gun in my hands or put me in a mobile suit and I can manage, but I'm just not any good with people."

Quatre smiled, "That's not true, Heero. You are better with people than you think. From time to time, everyone needs someone like you to depend on. Don't worry," Quatre assured him, "you'll find your way."

Heero was quiet, unsure if he could have as much faith as Quatre.

"That reminds me...." Quatre started. "Do you have an account?"

Heero raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Why?"

"I want to make a transfer over to you," Quatre explained.

Heero disagreed, "That won't be necessary."

"It's customary," Quatre pushed. "I should compensate you for labor and consultation. And travel. And the centipedes. I can't believe the store wouldn't let you return them."

Heero shrugged. He let Quatre have the account number. "Are you sure you want those centipedes in your garden?"

"I'm sure they'll be happy there," Quatre laughed, not looking up from punching numbers into his phone.

"Do centipedes feel happiness?" Heero questioned.

"They just try to make their way in the world, just like any other living being."

Classic Quatre, Heero thought. The two young men sensed their time had come to an end.

"You're welcome here any time you like," Quatre said. "Will I see you again?"

"Hopefully not, if you stay out of trouble," Heero jabbed dryly. "Besides, your assistant has been giving me the stink eye ever since I showed up."

Quatre laughed nervously, "Shasta appreciates everything you've done. She's just unhappy that we have not had time to be alone in all this chaos."

The two shared a small laugh. For a brief moment, they enjoyed a brief respite from the hardship of their lives. For a brief moment, they felt they were understood.

"I will miss having you here," Quatre said. "Let me know if you ever need anything at all."

Heero nodded. "Take care, Quatre."

***

The solitary soldier returned to the run-down apartment complex. Nothing had changed since he was away. Heero found that Quatre may have accidentally added too many zeroes onto his bank transfer, but then he remembered how Quatre was always deliberate in his generosity. It was too much trouble to return what was probably a drop in the bucket for Quatre, so Heero kept the money aside to fund new work.

Like Quatre, there were many leaders and businessmen in need of protection, Heero discovered. Some were good, and some were evil. Many were incompetent beginners--others were old masters. A few needed a shield to protect them as they uncovered corruption. Most wanted help escaping the results of their evil deeds.

Heero did not judge them. They all had their reasons. Heero found that under the right circumstances, fear made the promise of a few more seconds of life much more valuable than money. At times, taking advantage of their desperation made him uncomfortable, but Heero, too, needed a way to make a living.

Heero Yuy's Protection Agency was founded. The slogan: "I'll kill them before they kill you." In a year's time, and through many sleepless nights on duty, Heero had amassed a small fortune. Eventually he extended his services to ordinary civilians, often working without charging his clients.

It was time to leave his apartment, Heero sensed. Many of his clients were on Earth; moving there would ease the burden of travel. He disappeared wordlessly. He left a stuffed bear in front of his neighbor Ashley's door in the hopes that it would comfort her and she could move forward in her life. For the upstairs neighbors, he left a set of expensive medicines for Troy who was now a full-grown dog. His downtrodden neighbor Tony was given a new tie and a pair of dress shoes. Hopefully it would help him impress at his next interview. 

Heero found a sanctuary far away from civilization. It was a pond and a grassy field in the middle of a forest. He used his wealth to build a house by the water. For a time, he needed a haven to focus inward, a place far away from the noise and confusion of society.

It was winter now, nearly two years after the Mariemaia rebellion. The pond was frozen thick enough to run across. Snow fell softly, creating a blanket of frost. Everywhere was silence. The white snow contrasted against the black bark of leafless trees, the branches bending from the weight of the flakes of ice.

At the center of the pond were two porcelain statues, a god of war, and a goddess of mercy. They were gifts from a grateful client.

It was the first winter in a long time where he didn't find himself fighting for his life, Heero thought. He sat on a stone bench at the edge of the frozen pond, deep in thought, snow on his shoulders.

It was beautiful and quiet here. The snow and the frozen pond were immaculate. But things only seemed this way because it was far away from society. Was this any different than running away?

The problems he and Quatre saw did not disappear. Heero did what he could, but often he felt powerless to affect lasting change. There was so much uncertainty. Was a lifetime enough to make the world better?

Heero remembered the day Odin Lowe put a gun in his hands for the first time. He had been fighting longer than anyone. What would he do if humanity descended into war again? Heero feared his life would be nothing but meaningless battle--that he would live and die by the sword.

He wished he had some sort of guidance. He even wished he had ZERO system to tell him what to do.

But a Gundam is not god. Zero would have nothing to say....

A joyous laugh suddenly broke the silence. Heero looked up, somewhat relieved to have his grave thoughts interrupted.

A young woman dashed across the frozen pond and slid over the ice on her back. Her white winter coat cushioned her from the frost, her red scarf trailing behind her. She could not contain her laughter from the simple thrill--from the uninhibited freedom. Her momentum carried her headfirst to a spinning stop at the stone bench where Heero sat. She laughed again.

Heero looked down at her kindly. All at once, he felt both free from his burdens and also truly obligated to lift the world up on his own shoulders. To be able to look into the eyes of another without fear of judgment or rejection.... Was it possible for all of humanity to achieve?

If he could not change everything, then he would do what he could. If he could not save everyone, then he could at least save one person. This was the first step to true universal peace. And maybe one day, at the end of a long road, after he had saved everyone, Heero Yuy, too, could be saved.


End file.
